"Forty-nine" started. For a moment the settled melancholy of his cadaverous face lightened. A hand went up to his head as though to ascertain that he was not dreaming. It came into contact with the bristles of his cropped hair, and dropped at once to his side.
"I'm to go—free, sir?"
"That's precisely what I'm telling you."
"Forty-nine's" eyes rolled. He looked from the governor to the secretary.
"Pardon?" he said. Then a hot light grew in his eyes at an inner sense of injustice in the method of his release. "But I've done nothing wrong, sir."
Charles Raymond smiled. But his smile was genuine and expressed none of the usual incredulity.
"That is a matter for yourself. I simply receive my orders from the usual authorities. Those orders are that a free pardon has been extended to you. I also have here a letter for you, which, since it is in a lady's handwriting, and you are to be released at once, I have waived the regulations and refrained from opening. You will receive your railroad fare to whatever place in the country you wish to go. Also the usual prison allowance in cash. That will do. The prison chaplain will visit you before you go out."
"I don't need to see him, sir. He tires me."
The secretary looked up sharply at the fiercely resentful tone of the prisoner's denial. But the governor only smiled.
"As you will," he said, and signed again to the warder. "Your letter will be handed to you at the outer gate—with the other things."